this deep-burning, unquenchable fire
by long time brother
Summary: bash / kenna: Kenna's drunk. Henry comes after her. And so does Bash.


**A/N:** I don't quite particularly know what this is. All I know is BASH AND KENNA ARE AMAZING.

**this deep-burning, unquenchable fire**

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amantium irae amoris integratio est

_Lovers' quarrels are the renewal of love_

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Kenna's drunk.

Henry comes after her.

And so does Bash.

.

.

Her dress is magnificent.

It's a dazzling emerald green, hitched up at her waist with silky swathes of softer green skirts rustling slightly. The bodice is enchantingly wrapped around her chest, dark green lace tightening in twists and turns, swirls, all over her chest and the designs elongate onto her supple arms.

Kenna fiddles with her long chestnut hair, pushing it up as Bash pulls on his own boots. She pouts, watching Bash. "You've worn those boots for the past five days—don't you have anything new?"

"Don't you have anything old?" Bash returns, a flicker of a smile flashing across his features but his fingers stop tying up his boots. "You wear a different dress every single day."

"That's because _I_ care about my appearance," Kenna darts a glance toward Bash who sits in his wooden chair and adjusts her hair slightly. "We need to do something about yours. I'm not having the ladies at court gossip about how unseemly my husband is."

Bash chuckles lightly as he picks up his mask, plain and dark—a stark contrast to Kenna's—and fits it over his head, tying it up around his head deftly. He watches Kenna pick her own, elegantly designed with pearls and feathers, and slide it slowly over her head.

"Well," Kenna brushes down her dress. "I suppose there's no point in my telling you not to watch Mary tonight so I'll just advise you to be more discreet, hmm?"

Bash rolls his eyes but doesn't correct her as he gets up and takes Kenna's outstretched arm. "Come along, Lady Horse and Hunt. Let's get this night over with."

"Certainly, Lord Horse and Hunt," Kenna smiles. "But only after you change your boots."

.

.

King Henry and Penelope the serving wench have gone all out with the masked ball. The roaring candle light enriches the ballroom with a golden glow, spreading through the room with gentle warmth. It lights up the tables groaning under the delicious-looking meats, juicy fruits, delectable pastries and sparkles glisten off graceful ballgowns and elegant masks.

Bash sees Kenna cast a wary eye over King Henry who is laughing uproariously and he squeezes her hand, if only for a mere second. "Don't worry, Kenna," he mutters to her. "You'll get wrinkles. On top of the ones you already have, of course."

Shooting him a glare that's thankfully devoid of any fright, Kenna gives a wolfish smile and not-so-discreetly manages to tread on his boot. "Stop talking, Bash," she replies with vigour. "You'll wear out the few brain cells you have left."

The two leave each other's side, giving each other bright and teasing smiles; Bash goes to the other men and Francis while Kenna joins her friends and Mary.

The elegant symphonies of harmonious strings, harps, violins tilt into the ballroom, falling into delicate, sweet notes as the Lords and Ladies attending the Masked Ball draw each other into mesmerising dances. Lola giggles beside her as they watch Lord Pepperpot persuade an unwilling Greer to join him for a particularly exuberant dance that consists of him flapping his arms enthusiastically.

Kenna makes eye contact with Bash across the room and she is about to stride forwards to demand a dance—

"Kenna."

Pure terror fills her up instantly as Kenna turns slowly on one heel to meet the sparking gaze of King Henry's and her fingers tighten on her glass of imported wine. "Your Highness," she murmurs. "Uh, if you'll excuse me—,"

"Tut, tut," King Henry interrupts. "You used to be more willing—marriage has _dulled_ you, Lady Kenna."

Kenna takes a sip of her wine.

King Henry advances further. "I demand a dance."

Kenna downs her glass and snatches up another.

.

.

Bash's eyes roam the ballroom quickly, as the tempo of the music picks up.

It's irresistible; the elegant music hypnotises the dancers twisting and turning into something different, one beat, two beats, three beats, and it's _off_, one beat, two beats, three beats, the strings, the harps; they tinkle through the room like innocent water droplets—

Mary laughs as she twirls in the arms of Francis, one beat, two beats, three beats, Greer tries to curtsey out of a dance with Lord Pepperpot, one beat, two beats, three beats, Lola weaves her way through the dance with Lord Julian, one beat, two beats, three beats—

Delicate beats float away on the breeze, soft as silk, strum, strum, strum, one beat, two beats, three beats—

Bash blinks once, twice, thrice. What's going on, he wonders, glancing around in a daze as the dancers spin, twist, twirl around him.

Graceful ballgowns, glistening with glowing jewels and tantalising ribbons fluttering in the cool blaze of the intoxicating breeze, they wind around him, one beat, two beats, three beats, delicate feathers, silver pearls, one beat, two beats, three beats, hypnotising masks of every shape and colour, hiding classily sparking eyes, one beat, two beats, three beats—

Emerald green, he remembers dizzily, eyes fixed on the ballroom doors as a trailing feather—a trailing, oh-so familiar feather—falls to the floor.

.

.

Her head hurts.

Kenna's slim fingers press to her temples and meet another's fingers, rough and coarse, as she tumbles back, recoiling on instinct. "W-what are—,"

"You've been ignoring all of my summons, Kenna," King Henry's deep voice echoes and she flinches. "I am not to be ignored."

Eyes drowsy and mind crashing with thundering thoughts, swirling ballgowns, masks, _so_ _many masks_, Kenna grips her glass of wine tighter and thrusts it into the direction of King Henry.

He lets out a bellow but she's too far gone, collapsing against the palace walls, sliding down.

Her emerald green gown billows out around her like a blooming flower, soft silk cascading in waves as Kenna fights to succumb to the ever-growing darkness crawling into her mind. Her eyes find a blurry but _familiar_ someone else coming up and the flickering candle light leaps onto something shiny.

It's boots, she realises. New boots.

Kenna smiles.

.

.

"Are you okay?"

"Bash, I understand the world could have lost me today but for the fifteenth time, I'm _fine_," Kenna protests but Bash, forehead creased with worry and tension, climbs into bed and tucks the sheets around her more securely. "What about you? You look a little peaky yourself. Not a good look on you, husband of mine."

"You're talking to the Lord of Horse and Hunt, Lady Kenna—you should be more respectful," Bash tries for a joke and Kenna bats at him, giggling.

They chuckle at his bad joke for a while before Kenna sobers and smiles up at him uncertainly. "Uh, thanks, Bash. For what you did tonight."

Visions of Kenna collapsing against the floor with an enraged and temporarily blind King Henry explode into Bash's mind and something in his chest tugs as he remembers the pale, beautiful face of his wife, unconscious as the dead.

"No problem," he replies, fighting to pull back the casual banter they seem to have fallen into. "It's my job to stop you from trying to blind our mad King and getting yourself killed."

Kenna rolls his eyes. "You just have to ruin a perfect moment, don't you?" she mumbles as her fingers find her temples and massages them carefully.

Almost unconsciously, his own world-weary fingers find hers and presses into her temples as Kenna leans against him, sighing in contentment. Bash leans against the headboard of his bed, as sleep washes over the two. His arms drop to circle his wife protectively as Kenna presses herself against Bash sleepily.

They'll wake tomorrow and the atmosphere will crackle with awkwardness.

They'll wake tomorrow and each will secretly covet the other.

They'll wake tomorrow.

She'll moan that his mirror is not nearly big enough for her.

He'll return that she can dress herself in front of the frozen river outside.

The banter sets itself alight and they bicker with vigour but they wouldn't really have it any other way.

.

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**fin**

**A/N** **CONTINUED**: I think they probably wouldn't have known about brain cells and stuff back in those times but my history really only extends to Horrible Histories! And Reign is always like HAHAHAHAH LOGIC WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MARY'S TARTAN DRESSING GOWN UH, BALL GOWN IS TOTALLY HISTORICALLY ACCURATE AND WHAT LOGIC WE DON'T EVEN KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD so I figure I could do it too?

Plus, if the whole ball thing was confusing - which it was to me, at first, and then it was like, _damn, you wrote this thing what do you mean you don't even understand it._ So yeah.

The ball was basically a masked ball where everyone had fun but King Henry, pissed off because Kenna didn't 'answer his summons', spiked Kenna's drink and Bash got dizzy because of all the music and the pretty colours and he was looking for Kenna but she wasn't there and he saw the feather that had been on her mask on the floor so he was like, 'Hmm, feather plus absent Kenna plus absent Henry equals ... OOH, LOOK AT THE PRETTY MASKS. Uh, I mean, I have to turn Superman and save Kenna even though she doesn't really need that much saving because she's thrown her drink into Henry's eyes with the last of her strength because the writer always wants to portray her female characters as strong and not needing to be saved except they have to be saved because WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE SAVED BY BASH.'

Damn, this is long. I hope you understood my ramblings and if you have any questions, PM me! Or, y'know. Review. Because reviewing's really nice. And encouraging. I should shut up and leave you alone now.


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